


me time

by padme_skywalker



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Soft!Bucky, bucky barnes deserves to be pampered, just pure fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-22
Updated: 2020-05-22
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:14:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24314113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/padme_skywalker/pseuds/padme_skywalker
Summary: "You're allowed to want comfort, Bucky."Or, the one where you teach Bucky the importance of me time.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Reader
Comments: 17
Kudos: 131





	me time

The first time Bucky saw you, you were rummaging through the kitchen cabinets wrapped in a white fluffy robe with something orange painted on your face and a mouth guard emitting blue light shoved in your mouth.

His tour of the compound was ending on the floor he would be sharing with you and Steve. “Oh, Buck, this is Y/N, she’s—”

Bucky nearly startled as you whipped around lightning fast mumbling something that sounded like “ _eebe wha da he_ ” before taking out the mouth guard and spitting a glob of…. something into the sink.

You glared at the blonde super soldier. “Steve, what the hell. You _know_ that Thursdays from 7-8 is my me time and you’re not supposed to bother me.”

Steve only looked a little guilty as he rolled his eyes at you. “I know that but I just wanted to introduce you to—”

“Me. Time.”

With one last glare you turned on your heel and strutted down the hall to your room, grumbling about _stupid super soldiers and their inability to leave people alone_ and telling F.R.I.D.A.Y. to lock your door for the rest of the hour.

The second time Bucky saw you was in that same kitchen the next morning. The orange stuff on your face was gone and the fluffy robe was replaced with an all-black workout set. You were pretty- beautiful, even- was his first thought, but he quickly dismissed it when he remembered how not happy you seemed to react toward his presence last night. He was used to that reaction at that point, though.

You gave him a sheepish smile as you grabbed the pitcher of water and a few items from the fridge.

Bucky kept his head down, focusing on his plate of eggs as you prepared your breakfast in awkward silence. He only glanced up when you plopped down in the chair across from him and started munching on your bowl of granola but quickly returned to shoveling his food in his mouth so he could get out of there as soon as possible.

“Sorry about last night,” you said after a few minutes. “I swear I wasn’t trying to be mean, but Steve is very aware that I was having me time and he knows I get cranky when it’s interrupted so really if anyone should apologize it should be him for introducing us at such a bad time.”

Bucky looked at you in surprise. Your spoon was lifted halfway to your mouth and a small smile was on your face. Any hostility from the night before was gone, and instead of the glare you had given Steve your eyes were soft and inviting.

He swallowed. “That’s okay. Steve said you were all bark and no bite anyway.”

A loud laugh made its way out and you playfully snapped, “Yeah, _okay._ Why don’t you ask the star spangled man with a plan what happened when he came to recruit me for the team? _Then_ we’ll talk about who’s all bark and no bite.”

With another laugh you went back to eating your breakfast, a smile on your face, and being awfully not discreet as you snuck looks at him until he finished his meal and left for his run.

* * *

The next month was spent in easy companionship with one another. Bucky hadn’t been cleared for missions just yet and you seemed to only go on small recon missions, so while the others were away you naturally gravitated toward him. He wasn’t sure if you actually wanted to spend time with him or if you were just lonely and he was just there, but you seemed to seek him out any time you could.

If he was in the gym, you would always show up and give him a smile and wave before doing your own thing. If he was on the couch reading, it wouldn’t be long before you were on the other side wrapped in a blanket and watching a show with the TV on mute and subtitles on so as to not disturb him. You tried joining him on a run one morning, but half a mile in you were laying on the ground gasping and telling him to go on without you and that you were going into the light and telling him to tell Steve that you didn’t mean to throw up in his cowl that one time but you were just so drunk and it was just there.

Thursdays from 7-8 never changed, though. You either locked yourself in your room or sat on the couch in your robe with a face mask on sipping from a way-too-full glass of wine and always quipped, “ _Me time, Buckaroo”_ any time he got too close to you.

Bucky wasn’t sure what to think of you. Or rather, he was scared of what he thought about you. You were nice, sweeter to him than anyone ever should be. You always included him whenever the team was doing something, made sure he was eating enough (not rationing food was entirely new to him- really food in general was new to him since he was kept alive through an IV for seventy odd years), and if you were up before him you would always make sure to have a fresh pot of coffee ready even though you didn’t drink it.

When his first bad night terror hit, he met you in the living room the next evening with a red face and stammered through an apology for possibly waking you up for being too loud. He was met with a shrug and you saying that your roommates in college were a couple and you’ve learned to sleep through much louder than his nightmares.

One nightmare you couldn’t sleep through, though. Bucky preferred to be alone, not even wanting Steve to help him, but with his cries growing increasingly more heartbreaking, you slipped through his door and padded over to his bed.

Tears were streaming down his face even in sleep as he sobbed and pleaded, “Please, please, no, _no, I can’t remember, **don’t hurt her**_.”

You shook him awake, not flinching when he shot up and tackled you to the bed, his metal arm pressing against your neck with a wild look in his eyes.

“Hey, _hey._ You’re okay. You were just having a nightmare and I wanted to check on you.”

He slowly came back to himself listening to your whispers of _you’re okay, you’re safe, you’re here with me, I won’t hurt you, no one will hurt you with me here._ Bucky collapsed onto the bed beside you, his breaths ragged and stinging his throat that was raw from screaming.

The two of you lay there for a moment before you pulled him up and into the bathroom and sat him on the toilet. You left for a few minutes and when you retuned you had a small white container in your hands.

Bucky watched you curiously as you clipped his hair back and only tensed up for a second when ran a warm wet wash cloth over his face, cleansing him of the sweat and tears caused by whatever terrors he had to suffer from that night.

“What are you doing?” he croaked out, but you ignored him in favor of opening the container and dipping a fluffy brush in the green goo and wiping it on your face.

“Me time, Bucky,” you murmured.

When you were finished, you dipped the brush again and then you were stepping in between his legs and bringing the brush up to his face. He tried to protest, but you shushed him and a stripe of green was swiped down his forehead as you whispered, “ _Simba.”_

“What are you doing?” he asked again. You were closer to him than you had ever been before, and he was painfully aware of his lack of clothing (clothing is uncomfortable to sleep in and you cannot convince him otherwise) but you ignored the gnarled scars of his left shoulder in favor of brushing the mask on his face.

“Me time.”

You continued to brush his face, and he found the tension slowly leaving his body and his shoulder dropped and his eyes slid closed as he leaned into you. A sigh left his body but when you gave a small giggle he realized what he was doing and abruptly jerked away from you, tensing up once again.

The smile on your face was soft and somewhat sad as you placed your hand on the back of his neck and brought him back to where he was.

“You’re allowed to want comfort, Bucky,” you said. He watched your eyes as they followed the strokes of the brush on his face. “You’re so hard on yourself. You’re allowed to be kind to yourself every once in a while.”

“I don’t need comfort,” Bucky grumbled, jaw clenched tight. Nothing about his life has ever been about comfort. Even before the war, when he was just Bucky Barnes in Brooklyn, comfort was the last thing on his mind.

“Everyone needs comfort, Buck. Why do you think I have “Me Time” every week? I would go crazy if I didn’t do something for myself every once in a while.” He didn’t answer, instead closing his eyes so that he didn’t have to see how softly you were looking at him. You were so pretty even with dark green goop drying on your face.

When he stayed silent you continued. “My entire life has been spent serving others. I’ve been forced to do their bidding since I was a child, and even now I give nearly everything I am to save the lives of others.” You kept brushing his face. “We’re more alike than you know, honey.”

He swallowed and his body wanted to relax while he listened to you whisper to him, but his mind was forcing him to stay rigid. _You don’t deserve to relax._

It was like you were reading his mind. “You deserve good things, Bucky. The world has been so cruel to you and you don’t owe it a damn thing even though you think you do. The only person you owe anything to is yourself because for over a hundred years you’ve never been allowed to do anything for just you and it’s time you start.”

As you talked flashes of scared faces and metal and gunpowder and blood were entering his mind. “I wish it was that easy, doll. But you don’t understand. I’m not a good—”

“You’re not a bad man, Bucky,” you interrupted. “You’re just a man who had to do bad things. If you were a bad man then you wouldn’t be killing yourself day and night for doing the things you were forced to do.”

He fell silent, not convinced, but he let his eyes slip shut again and relaxed as you continued to brush the mask onto his face.

“There,” you said, stepping back and admiring your handiwork. The Winter Soldier was much less intimidating in a green face mask with his hair pulled back by a jeweled hair clip. “Wow. If only HYDRA could see you now. They’d be shaking in their boots.” That got you a playful glare.

“What do we do now?”

You gave him a sly smile and skipped back into his room. “Now we steal a bottle of Tony’s fancy wine and I introduce you to the wonders of 90’s romcoms.”

The next week Steve cringed when he got home from his mission during your designated “me time” session. He tiptoed out of the elevator in an attempt to avoid your wrath, but froze at the sight of you and Bucky sitting on the couch, face masks and matching white fluffy robes on, with wine glasses in hand. He opened his mouth to speak.

“Me time, Steve,” the two of you snapped simultaneously.

**Author's Note:**

> I literally just wanted to write a drabble about putting a face mask on Bucky and somehow wrote nearly 2000 words? I kind of want to make a "treat yo self" series with teaching Bucky all about the wonders of self-care because it would be CUTE.
> 
> anyway, follow me on tumblr if you'd like! : mandalorianspace.tumblr.com


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